Blushing and Dying

She may just blush and die to feel his tongue:
So artful as it slips against her flesh;
She giggles nervously once he's begun
To lick her in a place that may, for some,
Be quite forbidden space; but he makes free
And she can sigh to feel just how his hands
Have pulled her 'jamas down, so he can see
Her bottom and can spread it, as he planned
To do, to make her blush a deeper red;
She hides her face in pillows at the sin
Of lifting her backside right off the bed
And reaching back to help him; let him rim
The dainty little hole that his warm breath
Will tease, before she dies that little death